Food and contemplation

A chilly spring morning finds me trying to pray, to reflect on what Ron Rolheiser has to say about prayer, and finally to try to understand what he means by saying that living contemplatively means that our lives are not trivial, unimportant, or anonymous.

When I think of the ordinary tasks of the day, I turn to my love of food and the way I enjoy Lidia's Italian cooking show on TV because she is so natural and well grounded, just as food (even shopping) keeps us grounded. I think of her as I cook and I value the time I spend in the kitchen, with the ordinary, everyday details that make up a life, from chopping to cleaning up the sink.

To work with food, to read about it (no wonder there are so many cookbooks and magazines devoted to recipes, so many restaurant reviews) is so fundamentally human; somehow doing so connects us with the earth, with creation, and with others around the world who are also chopping, cooking, eating, savoring the flavors that nature so bountifully provides.

I used to think of cooking as a creative thing, and it is; now I see it mainly as a spiritual act that reminds us how earth-bound attention to the present really is.  The life of prayer and contemplation is not vague and abstract and other-worldly; it is rooted in the goodness of everyday, in the creation of which we are a part.

To cook and to eat what we prepare is in a sense to be in communion with Mother Earth and with God's creation. This realization is itself a prayer and a reminder of how the little, ordinary things of daily life are holy, are universal and timeless; and that our humble daily tasks, which may seem tiresome or boring, are important reminders of how important everything we do is and how important every moment is.

So our lives, even if spent doing ordinary things at home, are far from unimportant, trivial, or anonymous--if we see them mindfully.

How Bad is Boredom?

Many of the heavyweights who have written knowledgably about boredom have seen it as negative, perhaps akin to depression, certainly related to the inevitable restlessness we all experience. I have written about it as a fear of running out of things to do.

Andreas Elpidorou, writing in Aeon, suggests the positive benefits of boredom: it alerts us to the need to be creative, to break out of the unfulfilling activity we are engaged in.

First, he says, not everyone who experiences boredom, which is to say nearly everyone at some time, is prone to ongoing boredom, a more serious issue (depression, I assume, though he doesn't use that word). If a sensation of pain alerts us to a problem in our bodies, then the feeling of boredom is a signal that we are pursuing the wrong thing for us spiritually; we are being prompted to find something else to do.

In a popular culture where distractions abound, that should not be hard. In fact, the culture of 24/7 entertainment functions as a kind of narcotic, writes Ron Rolheiser.  Of course, as he points out, we often need a palliative from pain, so we turn to music or movies or games to protect us from feeling hurt. But, Rolheiser says, too often this narcotic becomes a way of escaping the reality of our inner lives.

In a world of instant communication, in cities where restaurants and clubs are open around the clock to please us, we can be amused, distracted, and catered to any time of the day or night.  Our TVs contain hundreds of channels, and iPods give us access to vast libraries of music. But are we happy?  Do we not still remain bored, restless?

Some say our popular culture is giving us a permanent attention deficit disorder: we pay attention to so many things that we aren't giving real attention to anything that matters.  We are so busy being distracted that we seldom find opportunities to feel deeply our connection with others.

It takes a serious illness or death in the family sometimes for some people to start paying attention to what's going on inside them, to reflect on the meaning of life. All the stimulation and entertainment in the world can't help us live in peace with ourselves and those who love us.

In other words, the soul needs attention. As Rumi wrote, we rush from room to room desperately searching for the necklace that's around our neck.

So when I feel restless or bored with the same routine of humdrum activities, I must remind myself that, instead of turning to the media, I can turn inward.  I can find within myself, through solitude and silence, an essential link to what some call God, others call the essential reality of the now.

On Being Perfect

Like several of my friends, I have always striven for perfection and thought that the term "perfectionist" was a compliment. In recent years, I have learned the folly of this approach to life.

To be the best I can be in everything I do, from teaching and writing to husbanding, is different from the futile quest for perfection. In my twenties, I tried to look perfect, combing my hair with great precision so that every strand was in place, making sure my tie was just right, that I said the right thing at parties, and all the rest.

With the passage of time, I have thawed out: I was once frozen in a steretype of perfectionism that would have driven me crazy, had I continued to pursue that path. I have a neighbor who freaks out if a leaf or smudge mars his perfectly waxed car. This is borderline madness. I have seen parents push their kids to get nothing but A's on their report card, who settle for nothing less than first place in any competition. What does such pressure do to these kids growing up?

Be the best you can be, I want to tell them, without going to extremes. After all, nothing is life is perfect. We have to accept unfinished symphonies as part of human existence, as Karl Rahner once said. Happiness is always limited.

Ron Rolheiser has written widely (and well) on this topic: we tend to romanticize happiness, thinking of it, searching for it as the lack of tension and the ultimate in pleasure. But disappointments and frustrations are always near, ready to intrude on this impossible ideal.

What we should seek, says Rolheiser, is meaning, not happiness. "Meaning is what constitutes happiness and meaning isn't contingent upon pain and tension being absent from our lives." (from his blog of 6-12: www.ronrolheiser.com)

The mature person, it seems to me, puts aside false, superficial notions of perfection as well as unrealistic ideas of happiness, seeking meaning in his or her job, family, religion, soul. This implies that the "good life" is reflective, with goals that are ever changing, as life itself changes.

We are on an unfolding journey not toward perfection or happiness (at least in this life) but toward understanding ourselves and others and achieving the wisdom to cope with life's many imperfections.